7. Noa
Noa
On the third day, the storm broke.
I woke to silence. Not the muffled quiet of snow falling, but real silence. The absence of wind. The absence of that constant, howling pressure that had been the backdrop to every moment since I'd arrived.
For a few seconds, I just lay there in my nest of blankets, listening to nothing. Then I pushed myself upright and looked toward the windows.
Light. Actual light, not the gray murk that had passed for daylight since the blizzard started. Pale winter sun was streaming through the glass, casting long shadows across the floor. The sky beyond was a clear, impossible blue.
My first thought was: I can leave.
My second thought, as I tried to swing my legs off the makeshift bed and my ankle screamed in protest, was considerably less optimistic.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright anyway.
Three days of rest had helped. The swelling had gone down, and I could put some weight on the joint without wanting to pass out.
But “some weight” wasn't the same as “enough weight to hike several miles through deep snow.” I wasn't going anywhere. Not yet.
But I could at least see what we were dealing with.
The cabin was quiet. Early still, the sun barely above the ridge line. I grabbed the walking stick and slowly made my way to the window, leaning against the frame to take pressure off my ankle while I stared at the world outside.
It was beautiful. I'd give it that. The snow had transformed the landscape into something pristine and alien, every surface smoothed into gentle curves, every tree branch laden with white.
The clearing around the cabin was buried under what had to be three or four feet of accumulation, and the drifts against the outbuildings reached nearly to the rooflines.
It was also completely impassable. I could see that at a glance.
A vehicle wasn’t making it through this and even if my ankle had been fine, even if I'd had my gear and supplies, there was no walking out through that.
The trail I'd stumbled up three days ago had ceased to exist, buried under tons of snow that would take days or weeks to melt.
I was stuck. Truly, completely stuck.
The door to Calder's room opened behind me. I heard his footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crossing toward the kitchen. Then they paused.
“You're up early.”
I didn't turn around. “Storm stopped.”
“I noticed.” He came to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him but not so close that we were touching. He looked out at the same view I'd been studying, his expression unreadable. “Beautiful, isn't it?”
“That's one word for it.”
“Not the word you'd choose?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of 'prison.'“ The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. I tried to soften it. “Sorry. I know it's not your fault.”
“Doesn't mean you can't be frustrated.” He was quiet for a moment. “Bo and I will go out after breakfast, check the road and the property. See what we're actually dealing with.”
“And what do you think you're dealing with?”
“Best case? The main road got plowed yesterday and we just need to dig out the access trail. Worst case?” He shrugged. “We're up here until spring.”
I turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. He wasn't.
“Spring is three months away.”
“I know.”
“I can't stay here for three months.”
“Hopefully you won't have to.” His voice was calm, steady, the voice of someone who'd weathered long winters before and knew that panic didn't help anything. “But we should be prepared for all possibilities.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that there had to be another way, that I couldn't just disappear from my life for months without anyone knowing where I was.
But what was the point? The snow was there.
The road was buried. My ankle was still too damaged to walk on properly.
Arguing with reality wasn't going to change any of it.
“I need to contact someone,” I said instead. “Wes, or the ranger station, or... anyone. People are going to think I'm dead.”
“The radio's been out since the storm started. Atmospheric interference. But now that the weather's cleared, we might be able to get a signal.” Calder nodded toward a cabinet on the far wall. “There's a shortwave in there. I'll see if I can raise anyone after we assess the damage.”
It was something. A small something, but better than nothing.
“Thank you.”
He looked at me for a long moment, something flickering in those dark eyes that I couldn't quite read. Then he nodded once and headed for the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
I stayed at the window while he made breakfast. Watched the sun climb higher, watched the shadows shift across the snow, watched a pair of birds dart between the trees in search of food.
The world outside was waking up, shaking off the storm, getting back to business.
And I was stuck inside, watching it happen without me.
Shepherd emerged from his room around the time the coffee was ready, looking rumpled and half-asleep in a way that made him seem younger than usual. He blinked at the windows, at the sunlight, at me standing there like a sentinel.
“It stopped.”
“Gold star for observation.”
He gave me a look that was somewhere between amused and exasperated. “I see the rest did wonders for your disposition.”
“My disposition is fine. My situation is the problem.”
“Fair enough.” He accepted a mug of coffee from Calder and came to stand beside me, studying the view with those sharp, assessing eyes. “We'll need to dig out the solar panels. And check the generator fuel levels. And make sure the roof held up.”
“Bo and I are going out after breakfast,” Calder said. “We'll handle it.”
“I can help.”
Both men looked at me. Calder's expression was carefully neutral. Shepherd's was openly skeptical.
“With what?” Shepherd asked. “You can barely walk.”
“I can do something. Inventory supplies, organize equipment, whatever needs doing inside.” I hated the defensive note in my voice. Hated that I was asking for permission to be useful. “I can't just sit here and watch you work.”
“Why not?” Calder's question was genuine, not mocking. “You're injured. You're recovering. There's no shame in resting while you heal.”
“I'm not good at resting.”
“We noticed,” Shepherd said dryly.
I glared at him. He gazed back, unperturbed, sipping his coffee like we were having a pleasant conversation about the weather.
Bo appeared from somewhere, silent as always, and the cabin suddenly felt very full. Four people in a space designed for three, all of them looking at me with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
“I don't need you hovering over me,” I snapped, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “I've been taking care of myself my whole life. I don't need three alphas treating me like I'm made of glass.”
Silence. The kind of silence that told me I'd said too much, pushed too hard, let my frustration spill over onto people who didn't deserve it.
Shepherd was the one who responded, his voice mild. “No one thinks you're fragile, Noa. But accepting help when you're injured doesn't make you weak. It makes you practical.”
“I didn't ask for your analysis.”
“You didn't have to. I observe things. It's what I do.” He set down his coffee mug and met my eyes.
“You're scared. You're stuck in a place you didn't choose with people you don't know, and you have no control over any of it.
That's terrifying for someone who's built their whole life around being self-sufficient.
But taking it out on us isn't going to get you home any faster.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he didn't know what he was talking about, that he didn't know me, that he had no right to dissect my emotions like specimens in a lab.
But he wasn't wrong. That was the worst part. He'd looked at me for three days and seen exactly what I'd been trying to hide.
“I'm sorry,” I said, the words scraping against my pride. “That was... I shouldn't have snapped at you.”
“Apology accepted.” Shepherd picked up his coffee again like nothing had happened. “Now. Breakfast. Then Calder and Bo will check the property, and you and I will take inventory of supplies. That way you're doing something useful without putting weight on that ankle. Acceptable?”
It wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted was to be outside, in the snow, doing physical work that would burn off this restless energy. But it was something. It was better than sitting by the fire feeling useless.
“Acceptable,” I said grudgingly.
Breakfast was quiet. Calder made eggs and toast, simple food that filled the hollow space in my stomach without requiring much attention.
Bo ate fast and disappeared outside before anyone else was finished, already starting on whatever needed doing.
Shepherd ate slowly, methodically, still watching me with those too-perceptive eyes.
After the dishes were cleared, Calder pulled on his heavy coat and boots. “We'll be a few hours. There's a lot of ground to cover.”
“Be careful.” The words came out before I could stop them. Both men looked at me with surprise, and I felt heat climb up my neck. “I mean... the snow's deep. And unstable. Just... be careful.”
Something shifted in Calder's expression. Something warm. “We will.”
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft thunk, and I was alone with Shepherd.
“So,” I said. “Inventory.”
“Inventory.” He gestured toward the back of the cabin. “Pantry's through there. We should check everything against the supply list, see what we're running low on, figure out how long we can hold out if the roads stay closed.”